


It's 3 AM And I'm Screaming

by AlmightyHail



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: And children, Cute Children, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, angst that ends in fluff, but there is a flashback nonetheless, lots of angst but it gets better, no depictions of actual flashback, now with backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:50:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7482984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmightyHail/pseuds/AlmightyHail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiro's children rush next door to Allura's and Coran's apartment to get help for their father, who's having a rather vivid flashback to his time as a prisoner of the Galra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU where Pidge, Lance, Hunk and Keith are all fosters/adopted children of Shiro's. There is a realistic depiction of a PTSD flashback as well as help recovering from it.

Allora almost didn't notice the knocking on her front door until Coran snored so loud she woke. The man's obnoxious breathing normally didn't wake her, she'd grown so used to the sound of it, but this time the loudness echoed in her room and reverberated off the walls, stirring her from her peaceful sleep. It was thankful he never woke from his own snoring, otherwise he'd never get a wink of sleep. Secretly, Allura joked that he could sleep right through a hurricane if she let him.

The knocking repeated and she sat upright instantly. Was a burglar trying to break in? She and her friend didn't live in the best neighborhood, but it wasn't so dangerous that she had to keep herself vigilant. If the neighbor could raise four children on his own in such a place, could it truly be that unsafe? Still, out of caution, as Allura rose she made a plan for herself. First, wake up Coran.

Easier said than done. She knew his ways, though. With just a drop of icy water from the tap on his forehead he was instantly wailing and bolting out of bed. 

"COLD, COLD, COLD COLD COLD!" the redhead batted at his face as he yelled. 

"Stop it, Coran, it was just a drop," she scolded. The knocking continued once more, this time followed by a doorbell ring. Coran hummed in surprise and curiosity. 

"Is someone there?" he asked her quietly.

"I don't know," she replied. "But I'm not taking any chances. Go, head for the kitchen and arm yourself." 

Another knock. Whoever it was was really testing for their presence. By now, Allura hesitated. The person knew they were here...so why keep knocking? Why try to raid an empty apartment? This question lingered while she grabbed a letter opener from her office desk close to the front door. It wasn't a standard weapon but she could use it as one anyways. 

Another knock. Another door bell ring. Several door bell rings. Allura pulled the letter opener around in her hand so it pointed downwards. Her other hand reached for the door handle and flicked the lock. One, two...

"MISS ALLURA! MISS ALLURA, DADDY'S IN TROUBLE!" 

The white-haired lady gasped and instantly threw the door open. Below her, tears watering and barely held back, still in his onesie, a messy-haired Lance looked up. He looked distressed, scared, and it made her heart drop to the floor. 

"Lance?" she asked. She bent down onto one knee and offered her arms, tossing the letter opener away. "Come here, what's wrong?"

Lance ran into her arms, trying not to audibly sob. "Daddy's crying! He's really mad, Miss Allura! He won't stop yelling! I'm scared, Miss Allura! He won't talk to us!"

This was wrong. Shiro wasn't the type to suddenly burst into a rage at his own children, at all. In fact Allura couldn't think of a single time she's seen the man in any state of anger. The male was typically so calm, so collected and well mannered, even when agitated. Yelling? Mad? Not talking to his children? None of it made sense, and none of it was at all like Shiro. 

"Wait here," Allura told the young one. She turned inside and raced to the kitchen, to almost be assaulted by a wild pan-waving Coran. Luckily he recognised her, after he flipped the lights before running at her. Despite being told otherwise, Lance had followed her in, and hid behind her leg in fear.

"Lance?" Coran asked in confusion. He let the pan fall to his side. "What's wrong?"

"Shiro's upset," Allura tried to explain. Lance cut in with, "He's yelling a lot, and he's really scary! He won't talk to us but he keeps yelling, he won't hear us!"

"What...?" Coran looked to the clock above the kitchen pantry. 3:24 AM. What was Shiro doing up this late? Sure the poor man always had trouble sleeping, but this was way too unusual for the neighbor. 

"I don't know what's going on," Allura interrupted the redhead's thoughts, "but we need to go over there. What if he..."

Coran paused. The silence lingered for only a second but it felt deafening to all of them. 

"Right," Coran said. "I'll grab my jacket. Allura, grab a blanket. The one that wraps around you. We might need it."

Somehow, Coran seemed to have a clue about what might be happening. How, Allura didn't know, but she trusted him. Racing back to her closet she ripped the full-body robe from its hanger. The soft, comforting material was made with sleeves, so it could function as both a blanket and a robe. Allura saved it for the coldest nights. Tonight, though, she needed it for a different reason. 

Both neighbors, with Lance in tow, raced next door. Fortunately, being in the same apartment building, Shiro's place wasn't that far. The second they reached the front door, Hunk pulled it open, a frightened Pidge behind him. 

"Alluraaaa!" Hunk sobbed. His cheeks were red and wet with tears. "Dad's crying! He won't stop!" Behind him, Keith could be seen racing over to Pidge and holding her tight, trying to comfort her. In the distance, barely audible, was the sound of a man in terrible anguish.

"SHIRO!" Allura shouted. She slipped by the children, following the sound. A turn to the right, three long strides down a hallway and another turn, she was at Shiro's bedroom. She'd never been in here, even after months of knowing the man and being in his apartment. So she was surprised to see how tidy it was. 

She was also stricken by the sight of Shiro, on the ground, his head between his hands and his back bent over while he screamed like someone was tearing him apart. 

"SHIRO!" she cried, stepping and sitting beside him. "Shiro, what's wrong?" She reached out to place a hand on him, but the instant he felt her touch he drew back, as if she'd struck him. 

"SHUT UP!" the man screamed. Sweat was beading down his face. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!" 

"Please, Allura," Lance said from the doorway. The other children hid behind him, all trembling. "Do something!" From behind, stepping over them, Coran stumbled into the room. 

"What's happening?" they asked each other. Shiro's whimpers broke out again and Coran turned to look. His eyes widened and a shocked, but sorrowful, gaze filled his eyes. "Oh no..."

"What? What is it?" Allura demanded. 

"Allura," he said, "do you remember how Shiro was in the war?"

That was all she needed. "Oh no...He's having flashbacks..."

"Something must have triggered his memories and it's causing him to hallucinate," he said. "Hold on, I'll go grab something."

She had no idea what Coran was doing but she trusted him. Coran had been in the military himself, so he knew better than anyone here how to handle this. She only hoped what he had in mind would work. Shiro had been through something awful, it looked like. The man had never opened up about what it was exactly he'd been through, but from the sound of his terrified and pained screams, it was bordering on torture. 

Now she knew what the children meant by "yelling, but not answering." Shiro couldn't hear them. He couldn't see, hear or feel any of them. Wherever he was, he was far from here, in whatever pit he'd been stuck in that traumatized him like this. 

"I'm not like you," Shiro mumbled shakily. "I'm not like you...I'm not like you!" His voice increased in volume until he gave a wavering cry. Fear exploded inside Allura's chest at the sound. This was wrong...such a sound, from such a lovely and sweet man, was wrong. It didn't belong, not from him...The sight of Shiro, who was normally well in control and composed, losing his mind in pain and memories, fired a bolt of panic into the woman's heart. 

She would never forget this sight. 

Allura had never seen a grown man break down. This...this was beyond real. 

Coran came rushing in, with a glass of cold water. In another hand, he held oranges, one of the children's toys, and a loud second counter. 

"What do we do?" she asked frantically. The longer she watched Shiro tremble like this, the more she herself began to panic. A quick glance to the doorway, she saw the children still there, holding each other, clearly scared for their adoptive father. 

"Take this," Coran handed her the second counter. "Turn it to ten seconds, then let it click. Then do it again. Don't touch him, and don't say a word." 

Allura did as she was told, winding the timer. Coran set the collection of items around him and then turned to Shiro, who was cradling his stomach and hunching over on his knees. 

"Shiro," Coran began. His voice was unusually kind and soft, like talking to a scared pet. "I know you can hear me. Wherever you are, it's not real. You're safe now. It's over. You're here, in your bedroom, on the second floor. We're here for you. Allura is beside you. What happened is gone. Shiro, you're alright. You're safe, Shiro. You're safe."

As Coran proceeded to calmly talk to the veteran, Allura kept turning the clock back to ten seconds, rewinding it over and over. Slowly, visibly, Shiro's face became less strained and his lips lost its snarl. His eyes no longer stared straight ahead and glazed over. He wasn't completely in the present, but he was listening. 

"Count with me," Coran said. "Only count to ten. When you reach ten, look around."

No response. "Alright, I will start." He waited for the counter to start over. "Here we go. One...two...three..."

At first, Shiro didn't show any sign he could hear them. It wasn't working. Coran hummed and turned to the toy he'd grabbed - a circular device, with a wind up on the side and a race car spinning in the center. Once Coran wound it up, the car began to slowly turn in a clockwise motion, while a soft jingle played. 

"There," Coran nodded to himself. He turned to Shiro. "You hear it? This is Keith's toy. Remember how he begged you for it? He was mad you didn't get it for him until his birthday."

Allura noticed it first. Shiro blinked - probably the first time he'd blinked since they arrived. He could hear the chiming and it was bringing him back. 

"I'm going to count again," Coran said. "Count with me, if you can. One, two, three..."

For a few seconds, Shiro didn't move. Then, barely, one of his fingers began to tap on his arm. It kept track of the seconds. A few counts later, Shiro's body lost tension, loosening and leaning back to sit properly. 

"Shiro...?"

The man shook his head, eyes still looking down. He could hear them, and respond, at least. But now he was silent, and from the looks of him, didn't want to speak. 

"Alright." The toy stopped its chiming and Coran nodded to Allura to stop the counting. The second she did, Shiro, without looking, reached and took the counter, setting it as far as he could, then set it down by his foot. 

"Ah, counting," Coran concluded. "Counting helps you, yes?"

Shiro's finger began to tap again. "I see. Well, now we know."

Allura stood up, turning to the children who were peering on in curiosity. She knelt down by them, slowly closing the door behind her so the kids couldn't see their father. 

"Is he okay?" Hunk asked in a shy voice. The lady bent down, smiling.

"Yes," she told them. "Your father had a nightmare, that is all. I am sorry he startled you, and I'm sure he is as well. Give him time."

"Why was he yelling?" Lance asked. "Why couldn't he answer us?"

"He couldn't hear you," Allura explained. She herself didn't know what to make of this whole situation. She only knew that she needed to make sure Shiro's kids were alright. This was going to haunt them for a long time...Oh, Shiro...He was going to feel so horrible...

"How do we help him?" Pidge asked. It snapped Allura out of her thoughts. Oh, bless his children, they wanted to help their father as much as possible. 

"Give him some time," she told him. "How about this. Let us make him a gift. He will love knowing you aren't afraid of him."

"I'll make him a card!" Pidge said aloud. Always the crafter, Pidge loved making pictures and crafts for them. 

"I'll make him a grilled cheese sandwich!" Hunk pumped his fist in the air. 

Lance hugged Allura. "Thank you," he said. "I was so scared..."

Allura patted the young boy's back. "Your father's alright now. Let us know if this happens again. I promise, your father never meant for this to happen. He never meant to scare you."

"Why did his nightmares do that to him?" Keith asked from behind the group. 

"Shiro's nightmares are...a lot worse than everyone else's," Allura tried to come up with a good explanation. "He can't wake up from them, so he has to get help. His nightmares scare him, too."

"That sucks," Lance grumbled.

"Language, Lance."

"Sorry, Miss Allura..."

\-------------------------------------------------------

"Water?"

"Thank you."

Shiro held the glass in his robotic arm. It still shook, despite his efforts to still himself. He could still see the edges of the test lab on the corners of his vision. For now, though, he was focused on remembering he wasn't there anymore, even though his heart pounded and his mind wanted him to run screaming from the room. He felt trapped, cornered, but thanks to Coran's comforting speech, he was slowly calming down. 

"How'd you know what to do?" Shiro asked, drinking the cold liquid. The water soothed his sore throat. How much screaming had he done? He hoped he wouldn't lose his voice...

"You're not the first soldier I've seen in such a state," Coran said. "Long ago, I helped other soldiers after the war recover from their own memories. It was never easy, but it gave me the chance to see just what to do to help those stuck in their flashbacks."

"So you knew what was going on, then," Shiro said.

"I do," Coran nodded. He began to peel one of the oranges with his thumb. The sharp smell of the acidic fruit reached Shiro's nose and helped ground him a little further. There were no oranges in the prison he was kept in, that was for sure. 

"Thank you."

"Ah, don't worry about it. Here, want an orange?"

"Maybe later."

"Mm, fair enough."

Shiro looked down at the glass, then winced. "Oh, the kids..."

"Don't worry, Allura's taking care of them," Coran reassured him. "She's sending them off to bed. They were the ones who notified us, actually. Lance beat on our door until Allura woke up. Your son is smart, to come to us for help."

"They heard me," Shiro grumbled in guilt. "They heard me screaming. They shouldn't have had to hear that..."

"Well, to be honest, Shiro," Coran said, "They would have found out sooner or later. You can't put off something like this forever."

"I was hoping for later rather than sooner."

"Your children are fine, Shiro. They're quite the tough bunch! I've no doubt that they were willing to help you in any way they could."

A small silence passed. Allura entered, carrying a plate of food and a card as well as her blanket she'd brought over. 

"Hunk insisted on putting pickles in your sandwich," she said with a soft smile. "And Pidge wouldn't rest until she made a card for you."

Shiro's heart fluttered. "They...made me a card?"

"And worked hard on it," she told him as she sat down beside him. "They wanted to make sure you were okay."

Pickles and cheese. Hunk had been paying attention to Shiro's more unhealthy snacks. It made him smile to think his children were so attentive. He took a bite and hummed. "Delicious, just like always. That kid is going to be the next famous chef, I swear it."

"I agree," Coran said. "I've never seen the boy not make something delicious!"

Shiro reached for the card. On the front was a scribbled crayon drawing of all seven of them - Shiro, Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Allura, Coran, and Keith, holding hands - standing beside what looked like an apartment building. On the inside, the words "WE LOVE YOU DADDY" were written in several colors, and signed by each of the children. Pidge's handwriting trailed off the page. She must've fallen asleep while writing her name.

The man had to hold back a tear in his eye. These children were the best thing that had ever happened to him, easily. 

"They love you so much," Allura told him as he set the card down. 

"I can't imagine my life without them," Shiro told her. "I can't imagine where I'd be...I'd be so lost."

Coran wrapped the blanket around Shiro's shoulders, who gripped it closer around himself. "They mean a lot to you, and you mean the world to them," Coran said. 

"I should tuck them into bed," Shiro said. 

"No no, I already did," Allura said. "You need rest."

"Honestly, Allura, I don't think I can now," Shiro responded.

"True, you did have quite a fit," Coran said.

"Alright. Movie night, then?" Allura suggested.

"Sounds good to me," Shiro answered.

"As long as you're okay with me passing out on your couch, I'll be just fine!" Coran said.

"Coran, your snoring will wake the children," Allura told him.

"I do NOT snore!" 

"Uh, yeah, you do," Shiro said.

"Since when!?"

"Since you woke me up three days ago from your snoring. I'm on the other side of the building, and I can hear you."

"Lies and slander!"

The two other adults laughed. To Allura, it was the most wonderful sound to hear their neighbor laughing again, after such a serious moment.

"Seriously though, you're not sleeping here. You'll wake the kids."

"Nawwww. Fine."


	2. It Started Out With a Commercial.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro signs up to be a foster dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot what happened.

How it all began was certainly a peculiar, saddening but also heartwarming series of events. It could have started in several places, and started at different times for each involved. But to say for sure what started it all, was the decision to start in the first place. 

Shiro, several months after being discharged from duty and given funds to carry himself while looking for a job, was sitting on his apartment couch, watching the TV. He'd been lost since his being released from duty, without a goal in mind. His original dream had been to serve his country, save lives overseas, and become a commanding officer of the Army. 

He'd achieved all but the last. 

And now, without an aim in life, without guidance and with no ideas of where to turn, he'd begun to grow depressed and tired. Desk jobs seemed too boring. Retail, he could manage, but that wasn't going to keep him afloat forever. 

What was he going to do? 

As the man flipped through the channels in search of something to keep his eyes busy and distract his brooding mind, he happened across a flash of the word "HERO" on the screen. He flipped the channel back and watched, curiosity caught.

A commercial for a local adoption agency had been put up. Instead of the usual black and white saddened children's faces and mournful music that usually played, this commercial showed a man playing on the playground with several children. A woman came up beside him and they embraced the children, all smiling. 

"Change a child's life. Consider adoption."

Shiro stood up but turned the volume up. He left to the kitchen to grab a notebook and a pencil, then sat back down. The show broadcasting at that hour was some daytime reality show about repairing old homes for families in need, something he didn't normally watch and didn't pay much attention to. He wasn't watching the channel for that - he was waiting for the commercial to play again.

It took over an hour, but Shiro was patient. And he was rewarded - the commercial played again. He paid unwavering focus to the narrator and the words on the screen. 

"FRIEND."

"PARENT."

"HERO."

The narrator, a soft male's voice, explained a statistic about how few children were adopted. It went on to say that 'it only takes one parent to raise a child.' That was different. 

"Be a hero. Change a child's life. Consider adoption. Call this number."

And he wrote it down in messy scribble, hurrying his hand in case it disappeared before he was finished. 

The second he had the number, he stared at it. His left thumb rubbed under the numbers thoughtfully. Would this be a good idea? 

He knew the impulse that drew him in. Being a hero. He'd always wanted to feel like he'd done some good in the world. Helping children? He would do it in a heartbeat. He used to love babysitting and volunteering at daycares as a teenager. 

But that was different. He'd be potentially taking care of a child for years to come. Years of his life dedicated to another's life, to their times of need and their dreams and their fears and their experiences. 

Was he willing to give his years away?

...No. No, that wasn't right. He wasn't giving his life away. He was sharing it.

Was he willing to share his life with others? Was he willing to spend years sacrificing money, time and patience, to help younger children get a start in life?

To him, that trade off was more than fair.

If only he knew where to begin...

\------------------------------------

Shiro's foot tapped quietly but rapidly on the carpeted floor. His hands kneaded together over each other as he stared at the mock painting on the wall. In a room of empty seats, he was the only one in the waiting room. The woman who'd been waiting before him as he entered earlier was now gone. 

It'd been fifteen minutes. Sure, he'd arrived thirty minutes early, but waiting fueled his anxiety over the whole thing. He'd turned in his application as a potential foster parent weeks ago, and had been called in for an interview. He assumed this was to make sure he wasn't dangerous or unfit to raise a child. That was fair. He understood the loops and tricks he'd have to go through to be accepted. 

Waiting was the only part he didn't particularly like.

Still, he reassured himself nothing was wrong. While his mind fretted over everything that could possibly go wrong, he kept mentally telling himself that he'd nothing to make him ineligible. The secretary seemed nice and enjoyed his compliment on her brooch. And while he didn't have a job, he did have supplement from the military for his service. That would last him long enough to find a job. He hoped.

"Mister Shirogane?"

Shiro raised his head. A woman with a black knee-length skirt, beige blouse and tan cardigan stepped in. Her heels didn't make a sound on the carpet - that's how he didn't know she'd come in. In her hand she held a white binder. Her highlighted blonde hair curled around her shoulders and brushed to the left of her forehead. Blue-brown eyes looked at his black ones, and the lady gave him a forced smile.

Not good. 

"Shiro, please," he asked kindly, trying to return the smile. He stood up and nearly towered over her by a foot. Curse his height. She visibly leaned back, looking up at him. Was she nervous? 

"Come with me," she said, waving her manicured hand. Even her nails had a soft tan color, with a white flower gracing over her ring finger. He did as instructed, the knot in his stomach tightening. 

'You're okay,' he instructed himself mentally. It didn't still his shaky nerves.

Down a plain white hallway behind the secretary's counter she led him. At the very end was a white room with paintings of French shopping centers on each wall, framed in flaked gold. A wooden desk sat diagonal from the door, and two unblinded windows covered the wall opposite the doorway. In view, the sun glistened and glittered over a small pond, swans and geese floating atop. Two fabricated seats with armrests stood in front of a glass and wood coffee table, facing the brown wooden desk. 

The blonde turned to him, her feigned smile returned. She offered her right hand to him to shake. 

"Pleasure to meet you, Mister Shirogane," she said. 

"Shiro, please," he said patiently. She didn't notice, but he hesitated before reaching his metal arm up and taking her hand. He didn't shake vigorously or hold too tight. He could see in the stiffness of her arm, the feel of his metal hand intimidated her.

Did she think he could hurt her...? Or would...?

"Have a seat if you want," the woman instructed. Shiro was already crouching to do so. With his long legs they didn't fit under the table to stretch out, so he folded his knees instead. On her desk, he read the name "Alissa Laughlin." Interesting name. 

Laughlin pulled up into her desk. Even though she was only a few feet away, she felt like miles apart across the table. Her hands pulled up her laptop to her side so she could see him and type. 

"How are you doing today, Mis...Shiro," she corrected herself. 

"I'm doing well," he said pleasantly. He didn't notice but his fingers were back to knotting with each other. 

"That's good." She typed something real fast and then turned her spinning chair so she faced him. "So let us begin with the hardest question first."

Oh no.

"Why are you interested in fostering?"

He'd rehearsed this in his brain, but now the words didn't come so easily. 

"Well," he began, mentally scrambling for anything to assist him. 'Start with your background,' he remembered his speech teacher telling him long ago. "I was a very active babysitter as a teenager. I enjoyed being with the children, and the parents felt safe enough to let me stay with their children overnight. The children loved me, and some kept in contact with me for a long time."

The words became easier the more he focused on simply finishing each thought. While her nails clicked over the keyboard, he continued. "I've always loved how children were new to everything. They loved to learn more about everything they could. I won't call myself a role model, but I did my best to help the children with everything from homework to relationships. I feel every step a child takes in their life is important to who they'll be when they're older."

She took the chance as he took a breath to speak. Her smile was genuine now and her cheeks rose. "That's admirable," she told him. 

"I'm sorry...?"

She explained. "Most adults do not hold their children's experiences to such importance. I've met a lot of parents of biological children who don't acknowledge their children's feelings or thoughts."

"I've seen the same," Shiro told her. She nodded, and he took the cue to continue. 

"Another reason is," he took a deep breath, "I always felt like I had a purpose to help people. I have this instinct, this feeling that I can't fulfill my mission, I can't make the most out of my life, unless I'm helping someone." He emphasized with a balled fist. "I want to help people who have less than I do. And with my familiarity with children...I've seen that a lot of the time, the kids need a guide. They need someone who can help them. They can't do everything on their own. And the years before they're an adult are so crucial to the rest of their life, and to their development. I want to help them, I want to fulfill my role in life by...being there for them."

She'd been typing madly, and now she paused to listen before finishing her typing. Her eyes locked on Shiro.

"Shiro," she said. "What you have just said, I don't often hear. Some come in here seeking a child because they lost their own, or because they cannot conceive. It's very rare I find someone like you who is only here to help others, especially young children without a home. So many would rather do charity, or organixations. Nobody thinks of the children first. Not really."

As Laughlin returned to her typing, Shiro had a second to consider her words. He never thought of himself as special. Different, significant, perhaps, but not special, like she was making him seem. However, he could tell she'd met a lot of people. How many had come though the same door he did before him? How many passed the requirements? How many actually received children? How many kept them?

"Okay, " she interrupted his thoughts. "Now for the less stressful questions."

"Oh, that was the hardest one?" he asked jokingly. "I thought you'd be throwing curve balls at me."

The humor helped. She grinned at him. "No, that was the worst one. No curve balls this time."

"Oh, thank goodness."

The rest of the interview consisted of what he expected. Where did he live, how was his living arrangements, did he have room for others to stay, what was his income, what did he intend to do as a job, when would he have a job, did he have any pets, how was life in general, any criminal history, so on. It took a total of an hour and thirty minutes before she nodded and smiled one last time.

"Looks like we're all set here," she told him. "After this, we'll have an investigator come by your place and scope it out. Just to make sure nothing's dangerous."

"I understand," he told Laughlin. His mental check list added 'make the apartment spotless and kid-proof' to the very top. 

They both stood and shook hands. This time, she didn't show any fear from holding his metal hand. That made him more than relieved. 

"I hope we speak soon, Shiro," she told him. "I can't promise anything, but I have a good feeling for you."

"Thank you," he replied. "That is more than what I can ask for."

\------------------------------------

A week later, the investigator came by. She spent very little time in the apartment, exploring every room and every inch with fast precision. Her folder of check lists received a lot of ink, and by the time she was done, was almost completely filled in. Shiro hoped that was a good thing. 

She explained that besides covers for the outlets and making sure the edges of his tables were dulled or taped over, his entire apartment was perfect. 

"We'll be giving you a heads up if we find a match," she said. "We try to do it by personality, but...the matches can be hard if there's a shortage of takers."

"I don't mind that at all," he said. "I'll wait as long as needed. My door is always open."

"Thank you. We could use more like you," she said with a goodbye. 

Two weeks later, a black-haired and lanky child walked in with Shiro, eyes glazed and too forlorn to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kids will be introduced next chapter(s).


	3. The First Is Always The Hardest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is seven years old and already has abandonment issues.

The father struggled with his wiggling child in his lap. In one hand he held a tiny shoe, the other wrapped around his son to try and hold him in place.

"Hold still, Keith!" the father laughed. The black-haired toddler laughed as well, clapping his hands and wiggling his feet. Just one shoe. It took forever to get the other shoe on, all he had to do was one shoe. But the child always made the process take forever.

He didn't have the heart to tell his son to stop...he was having too much fun messing with his dad.

"Keith!" he cried. His large hand reached and tickled the toddler's side while his head blew raspberries into Keith's neck. The toddler squealed and writhed, making loud squeaks of hysterical laughter. With the little one distracted, Keith's father grabbed his son's leg and, with much practiced expertise, slipped on the last shoe before the toddler could squirm again.

"Ha _HA!_ " he laughed. "I won! And now we can go outside."

A knock on the door. Visitors? Here?

The father walked up and to the peephole at the top of the door. A friend, with messy hair and an unkempt beard, stood nervously outside. Keith's dad opened the door, confused.

"Dude, you gotta get out of here," the man said.

"Chill, Jaek. What's the problem?" Keith's father replied.

"You gotta get out," Jaek insisted. "They're coming."

"Daddy, who is it?" Keith asked, walking up behind him.

"It's Jaek," his father replied. "Stay by me, don't go out yet."

"Shit, is that your son!?" Jaek's distress doubled. "Dude you can't be here right now. You gotta get you and your son out pronto, this place is gonna be a shithole in like ten minutes."

"What's going on, Jaek?" the dad asked. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on."

"The cops, man." Jaek looked around. His eyes were wild. "The cops found out about this place. They're coming to get you, man. Don't be here, you gotta go. You gotta break for it."

"Nobody knows about this cabin except you and Sendak," Keith's father reminded.

"Now the cops do too," Jaek said. "Come on man, they caught one of your guys. They caught him and the guy fuckin' spilled. They're headed this way."

 _Shit._ "When?"

"Now, right now. Got the call ten minutes ago, they could be here any minute man."

Keith's father didn't have time. He turned to his son, gripping his shoulders tight.

"Keith, I need you to go with Jaek," he said seriously.

"What, why? What's going on, daddy?" Keith asked.

"Daddy has to go somewhere," he told him. "You can't go with him."

"Why?" Keith suddenly looked panicked. He didn't know what was happening, but he could sense it was something awful. "Dad, please don't go."

"Dad's in trouble right now," he told Keith. "But you can't be in trouble with dad, or you won't see dad ever again."

"Dad, no!" The toddler screamed and rushed to grab his father's chest. Inside, Keith's father's heart shattered.

He couldn't feel remorse. He couldn't feel fear. He couldn't feel heartbreak. He needed to do this and do this now, or he'd lose his career and his son.

He couldn't lose his son. Not like this.

"Go with him," the father insisted. " _Go_. Go with Jaek, he'll meet up with me soon."

"NO!" Keith began to cry. "I'm going with you! I don't care if we get in trouble, I don't wanna go with Jaek!"

The father looked to his friend. "Jaek. Come take him."

"And do what with him, man? I don't know shit about kids," Jaek told him.

"NO! I don't wanna go!"

"Jaek, you have to," the father demanded. "I can't take him. If they catch me they'll take him and do who knows what with him. I can't let them get to him. You have to take him somewhere else."

"Dude, I don't wanna take your kid!" Jaek protested.

"I don't wanna go, daddy!"

_"You don't get a choice!"_

Both stopped and looked at the father, stricken. His voice didn't lose its dark tone.

"You're taking Keith. Get him out of town. As far out as you can."

"And do what with him?" Jaek asked. "I don't have no kids, man. I don't even got a girl."

"Give him to Alagtha, she'll know what to do with him."

"DADDY NO!"

"Hush, Keith," the father said, looking down at his son. His voice softened but only a little. "You have to go. I know you don't want to. I know. But you have to, my son. We'll meet up again later, but you have to go."

"NO!" Keith screamed repeatedly. "No, no, no, no, NO, NO, _NO!_ "

The father hated this. He hated every taste, feeling, second, sight of it. All of it. In the back of his mind, he knew it was coming. He'd been worrying about it for years. He knew it'd only be a matter of time. He just didn't think it'd happen this quickly.

Maybe he'd gotten too comfortable.

"Jaek," he called one last time. Reluctantly, the other male stepped over and gripped Keith's sides firmly.

"NO!" Keith screamed. The sound could have made monsters terrified. "NO, DON'T TAKE ME! NO, DAD! LET ME GO! DAD, PLEASE!"

He had to look away. He couldn't watch his own son being taken, even by his own choice.

"DAD, NO! _DAD!_ "

"Ow, you little brat!"

"LET ME GO SEE DAD!"

"Daddy will see you soon, Keith. You'll be safe, my son. Just go with Jaek."

"DADDY, PLEASE COME WITH US!"

"Daddy ain't goin' with us, kid."

"DADDY!"

"I'll see you soon, Keith. I love you."

Jaek was halfway down the driveway with Keith when the child finally broke free and stormed back down to his father.

"Go back, Keith!"

"NO, NOT WITHOUT YOU!"

"Keith, go."

"NO!"

"Keith!"

_"NO!"_

He didn't have time for this. Every second meant the cops were getting closer.

"Jaek, the chloroform."

"On it."

He tried to tune out the sound of his son's wailing and pleas. His friend opened his car trunk and grabbed a large dirty rag that looked stained with a dark liquid. Jaek raced over and while his father held him still, Jaek placed the rag over Keith's face, making sure not to cover his mouth. The child coughed and sobbed, but quickly fell limp. His father held him, eyes steeled even while his heart turned to ice.

"Take him to the car, get him out of here," the father ordered.

"To Alagtha?"

"Yes."

Now unconscious, Keith didn't give a fuss or word as Jaek wrapped his arms around him and scooped him up. While his friend took his son, the dad raced to the back of his cabin to his four-wheeler. If he was going to get a head start, now was the time.

He couldn't think about never seeing his son again. He couldn't.

\---------------------------------------

"And she just left him here?"

"Yep. Got the whole thing on video."

"Did we get her face?"

"No, she had her face wrapped. Couldn't see a thing."

"Any idea if she's the mother?"

"Nope."

"Has the kid been interrogated?"

"They tried. He won't say a word but he keeps asking about his dad. Something in my gut tells me his dad didn't want him anymore."

"So cold...So cold to just abandon your own child at an orphanage."

"Well, child services can't do anything now that the parents seemed to have just...dropped him."

"This is stuff I would hear in novels and on the news but not here. Not...not like this."

"Do we have a name?"

"Keith."

"Last name?"

"He wouldn't say."

"Just wanted his dad."

"Yeah."

"And I'm guessing he didn't know his dad's real name?"

"Nope. Just knew him as 'dad.'"

"I can't believe this..."

"...We came into this business to help children like him. Let's...Let's do our best. Hold it together, Brittney. We have to find a home for him, somewhere."

"Where...?"

"I'll take him in for now, but I doubt he'll..."

"They never are."

"...May fate have mercy on poor souls like him."

\---------------------------------------

Three years and fifteen foster homes later, Keith had given up on finding his father. He knew his dad had abandoned him, and nothing else of his mother. He didn't know how to handle the anger or depression but it was easy to see in his behavior at schools, with children, with adults, that he still held deep, irreparable wounds.

That was the reason Keith never landed in a home longer than a few months. He'd show no interest in bonding, no interest in listening to other children or teachers, and absolute terror if someone said they were leaving. While the seeking parents wanted to comfort him, he never let anyone touch him let alone open up. And so with each house, Keith grew colder, less talkative, and more uncaring for others' demands of him.

Two hours from the usual orphanage he went to after being rejected from his foster home, a woman with short black hair walked into Laughlin's office.

"Laughlin, I have Keith," the woman said. Her thin eyes and round cheeks looked strange without the makeup she normally wore. "I don't have room in the orphanage and he needs a place."

Laughlin stuttered. The two had been childhood friends and went into the career together, starting their own business across cities. Laughlin had been in town when Keith was found unconscious on the business's front porch, and ever since then Keith had been a troublesome case. She wasn't surprised and didn't expect Keith to take to any family all too quickly. But when Brittney's orphanage ran out of room, and setting up cots wasn't enough, there wasn't much they could do.

"I-" she bit her lip. "Brittney, I don't know if I can take him just like that."

"Please," the Chinese woman pleaded. "He's in the car. I have his bags. I can't take him to my place because I'm still working with Braden and Hannah. And you know how they are."

"Yeah, yeah..." Laughlin ran a hand through her hair and breathed through her teeth.

"Do you not have any adults on standby?" Brittney asked. This wasn't good. Lately parents seeking children had been decreasing in numbers and with their orphanages getting crowded, things were looking bleak.

Laughlin bit on her manicured thumbnail and then looked at the stack of profiles in her filing cabinet. "I...I have one."

"Will they take Keith?"

Laughlin hoped and prayed Shiro was as patient as he was compassionate. He was going to need it, even to watch Keith for just a few short days while they made room for him.

"Yes," Laughlin said finally. "I'll dial him."

"How soon can he be ready?"

"We'll find out."

The blonde pulled out her office phone and grabbed Shiro's profile. She'd added a yellow star sticker onto it, as she did with all parents she preferred for more 'difficult' cases. Even though he'd had no experience with foster children, Laughlin didn't have any other choices. Something in her gut told her this was the best choice she could have gone with anyways. Dialing his number, she bit her lip as the phone dialed. Surprisingly, the man answered within one ring. At 6 AM?

"Hello, Mr. Shiro," Laughlin said in a feigned happy voice. Even with her tone one could tell she was in a hurry, and didn't have time for questions. "I need you to take a child in."

_"O-Okay. When?"_

"As soon as possible."

 _"Oh."_ A pause. _"Do they have a preferred color?"_

"Uuuhhh." Laughlin looked confusedly at Brittney, who shrugged with a bent lip. "Anything at all."

_"Alright..."_

"I'm so sorry for this, Shiro," Laughlin apologized. "I know you weren't ready."

 _"No no, it's okay!"_ Bless the man's patience. The blonde silently thanked the heavens Shiro existed otherwise she would have been in a much worse situation. The sound of something shuffling echoed in the back of Shiro's side, and then he spoke again. _"How soon do you need me to take them?"_

"Um, if you could take him today, that'd be phenomenal."

 _"Today?"_ The hesitance in the man's tone made Laughlin nervous.

"I know, I know it's short notice but it's an emergency."

A pause. _"Okay, give me a couple hours to rearrange things. I'll call you when I've got everything set up. Do you know how old they are?"_

"Seven."

_"Okay. Thank you."_

"Thank you so much, Shiro, you're a lifesaver."

A laugh. _"Ah, no, that's your job, Laughlin."_

She ignored the skip in her chest. "I'll wait for your call."

_"Okay. See you soon, Laughlin."_

She hung up and breathed a sigh of relief. Her fingers rubbed at her already throbbing cranium.

"He said yes?" Brittney inquired.

"Yes," Laughlin said. "Go ahead and bring Keith in. I'll keep an eye on him until he calls."

Brittney left, and after a few moments, returned with Keith. The boy looked sleepy, but a tiredness completely different also filled his dulled irises. It bled a hole into Laughlin's heart to see a child so young with such an empty look in their eyes. It didn't belong. A child shouldn't know such a feeling as Keith knew so well.

"You can sleep in one of the chairs, Keith," Laughlin said.

"I'm gonna head back to work," Brittney told her friend. The women waved goodbye. Five minutes later, Laughlin was trying to busy her thoughts with paperwork and Keith slept blissfully in a quirky position across both of her office chairs.

\---------------------------------------

"I can't thank you enough, Shiro," Laughlin told the man for the umpteenth time. Bags under her eyes seemed more apparent than usual.

"It's no trouble," Shiro told her. It was a lie, but he knew his efforts were probably a huge relief to the poor woman's stress.

"This doesn't normally happen," she promised him. "Usually we give our children and parents a chance to meet and bond a few times before letting them stay together, and we look for personality matches but we weren't expecting his other foster parents to drop him off so quickly-"

"Hey, there's no need to explain," Shiro chuckled. His lightheartedness comforted her a little. "I understand when there's an emergency. Things go wrong sometimes. I'm only happy I could help."

"Bless you, so so much."

Behind her, Keith stood with his head fallen and backpack over one shoulder. Laughlin had locked the car so he couldn't hide from the situation, so now the boy was fixated in a reluctant stance, avoiding looking at Shiro or Laughlin.

"Well, you should meet him," the woman said. "Keith, please come here."

The boy didn't move.

"Keith."

Not a word. Not a single flex of muscle.

"Nervous?" Shiro asked her.

"I think so." Laughlin knew Keith wasn't shy. He didn't want to be here. It wasn't fear, it was disinterest. She could understand. Keith had walked through too many doors he ended up having to walk back out on.

"That's okay," Shiro told her. "We'll get to know one another eventually. It takes time."

"Yeah..." she sighed. "Well, I'll leave you two then. Keith, behave, and don't cause trouble."

The woman left in her red Nissan, and Shiro walked up to Keith.

"Keith, is it?" the man asked. No response.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk," Shiro said. "It must be hard, not having a home."

"I had a home once."

Shiro blinked. Keith didn't finish.

"I'm Shiro."

"I heard."

He wasn't fazed. "I won't ask questions. For now, let's get you into your room. I'm sure you'd rather some time to yourself first?"

Keith didn't respond, but inside he did feel some relief. Finally, parents who weren't going to try and baby-talk him and expect him to get friendly off of it.

"I usually make dinner around six, but if you get hungry there's fruit snacks. You don't even have to ask, take them when you need them." Shiro turned. "Would you like to follow me?"

Shiro was asking. Keith looked up for a split second, then back down. He nodded.

"Alright." Shiro gave the child a warm smile, even if Keith wasn't looking to see it. "We'll head up this way."

Keith followed without a sound. He knew exactly what would happen a month or two from now. Shiro would grow tired of trying to get him to warm up, and then drop him right back off at the orphanage. Homes weren't a thing for him. He knew this.

Shiro opened the front door and walked in, keeping it open so Keith could enter. Inside the front entryway and to the left was an office, evening light sprinkling across the boxes.

"Oh, yeah, I still haven't finished moving in myself," Shiro said apologetically. "It's been six months and I still haven't unpacked everything. I need to get around to that, hah."

Keith walked behind Shiro up to the living room. To the right was a hallway, to the left the kitchen. Ahead was a sitting room with a TV, beyond it what looked like a small balcony.

"Down the hall is my room and your room," Shiro said, pointing. "There's a spare room too. Bathroom's the closest one on the right. Yours is the farthest on the right. I won't make you arrange your room for now. Set things however you want."

This was too relaxed. Keith didn't like this. This new foster dad was way different from others who either barked orders or smothered him. Or in two cases, acted like he wasn't there. Shiro was letting him choose for himself. It was weird and while deep down he appreciated the freedom, he also didn't find it all that comforting. Keith glanced to see what Shiro was up to, and observed the man bending down under his TV to open the movie case. He took the chance to head to his room and scope it out.

To his surprise, the place wasn't stocked full of toys or clothes. All that was there was a door mirror, a half-empty closet, a twin-size black bed with a wooden frame and a makeshift wooden desk that looked old enough to be called antique.

Another place. Another room. Another dad. Keith shrugged the backpack off his shoulders and placed it next to his bed. He plopped himself on the mattress. A spring bed. Wasn't too uncomfortable, though. He rubbed the sheets. Cotton, but not thick. No patterns, no cutesy characters, nothing. He liked that. Looking around the room, he realized just how plain it was. The walls were white, mostly bare save for one picture on the wall of an evening landscape with the black silhouette of a young boy looking up, holding a firework that sparkled over his head.

Keith really hoped Shiro wasn't going to make him go shopping for clothes and toys tomorrow. He hated that part. Most of it ended up discarded anyway.

With a heavy breath, Keith flopped onto his bed and stared at the textured ceiling. Mentally he tried betting to himself how long it'd be before he got rejected here, too.


	4. Man Overboard/Shopping Spree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Shiro go shopping. Lance finally lands in America.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want you to know, I'm not sorry.

Dark muddy water reached up the bank, clawing over the stones before falling away, slipping down to start the climb again. Lance's toes wiggled in the wet dirt, collecting mud in between them.

"Boat's ready, Lance," his mother called. He turned to her and ran up the bank, wrapping his arms around her. She lifted him up, cradling her son in her arms. Though she was small and he was half her height even at such a young age, her strength from lifting carts in the factories helped her hold her son close.

"Where will we find land, mom?" Lance asked.

"In the land of freedom," she told him. "We'll land in America. We'll be free of Cuba."

To Lance, America sounded like a beautiful place, a paradise where his mother could cook day and night like she loved to, and his father and uncles could net fish as they pleased. His brothers and sisters could swim in clean water, play in fields of grass, and learn how to read. Their grandfather, who had been only once before, had gone on for hours about the beautiful blue skies, the earth with no trash or glass, and the clean roads with thousands of cars. Buildings touched the clouds, and people were everywhere, and were flowing with money.

Lance couldn't wait. He was terrified, but he was excited. America seemed so grand, so perfect, compared to his home in Cuba, walking through muddy rubble and trash and coming home to a house made from a tent and two wooden walls.

"Will we have our own rooms?" Lance asked. His mother offered her hand and he took it, holding tightly as she led him down the path to the docks.

"Yes," she said cheerfully. "We won't at first, but we will one day. You'll be able to go to school. You'll have friends."

"My feet won't get cut up on the grass, will it?"

She laughed. "No. Your feet won't have any more cuts."

She and her fifteen children - some of birth, some of heritage - along with her brothers and sisters moved as one onto the empty boat waiting for them. An aging man with thin arms and a long, white beard stood at the boat's bow, holding his arms open to help people aboard.

Lance stopped. This didn't feel right.

"What's wrong?" his mother asked.

"It's shaky," he told her.

"Boats shake on water," he told her. "It's rocking with the waves."

"Does it do that all the time?"

"Yes. It'll put you right to sleep."

"...Okay."

Every step Lance took closer to the boat, he felt more anxious. It didn't seem like the boat could hold all of his family at once...It was large for a paddle-boat, sure, but he couldn't imagine he and all his siblings fitting on it easily.

"Are we gonna fit?" he asked.

"It'll be tight, but yes," she said. "Don't worry. It'll only be for a week or two."

"That's a long time!"

"You'll sleep through most of it."

The old man extended his freckled arms. Lance stepped forward after being ushered by his mother. The man's bony hands grabbed him by his chest and lifted him up, putting him on the boat.

"Over here!" his uncle and cousins called. Lance stumbled over, set uneasy by the boat's waddling.

"Ugh, why does it keep moving?" he asked once he curled up with his cousins.

"Water never stays still at sea," his uncle said.

"I don't think I can handle this for a whole week," Lance complained. His uncle ruffled his hair.

"What, you chicken?" his cousin dared.

"NO! I'm tough, this is nothing!" Lance said. He tried rocking the boat with his weight but his uncle grabbed him firmly.

"Don't do that, Lance!" he said. "You'll make us topple."

The young boy watched the rest of his family and some others board the small boat. When everyone was finally on board, Lance was sitting across his cousins' laps, out of room to move or sit.

"It's crowded..." Lance muttered. Nothing felt right about this.

"I know," his mother shushed. "It'll be alright. Once we reach America, it won't be crowded anymore."

"We're taking off!" the old man called.

"Hang on to me," his mother said. Lance did as he was told, wriggling into her lap and curling up against her chest. Her arms enveloped him, and like she said, within minutes, the ocean's rocking had sent him into a light rest.

\------------------------------------------------

The storms scared him.

"Are those coming for us, mommy?" Lance asked, pointing to the horizon. Ahead of them, rolling and expanding, were towering dark clouds that slowly reached over their heads.

"We have to go through them to get to America," she told her son.

"But won't we get cold and wet?" he asked.

"Yes," she breathed, "but it won't be for long. Be patient, my son."

He'd been waiting on the gross, dirty and crowded boat for what felt like longer than a week.

It felt like forever. He began to wonder if America was even a real place, if it was so far away across such a large body of water. Thunder whispered in the distance and Lance whimpered.

"I'm scared..."

"It's only rain," his mother told him. "Don't be afraid."

\------------------------------------------------

All he could remember was his mother's tight hug before the waters flipped them all over.

She held onto him, and his eyes burned. Lance tried to open his mouth to cry out, and water filled his nose and throat. The stinging made him cough, and his body convulsed.

Air breached over his head and he gasped, gagging and spitting. His mother held around his waist tightly, holding his head just over the water while she thrashed wildly to keep afloat.

Overhead the storm raged, strikes of rain pelting on them ceaselessly. A line of blinding light raked through the sky, followed immediately by a roar of thunder that shook Lance to the bones. He shivered. The water froze his skin...

"MOM!" he cried. He could hear her gasping beside him.

"Don't speak!" she cried. "Breathe! Do not speak! Breathe, Lance!"

He did his best to not cry. Everything inside him felt like ice and his lungs burned hotter than fire.

"HELP!" his mother cried. "HELP US!"

Lance's eyes wouldn't open. If he tried, the water would force them closed. He couldn't hear or see anyone around them. Where was the boat? Where were his brothers and sisters?

Where was his family?

"Stay with me," his mother yelled over the rain. "Stay with me, Lance!"

Against his will, Lance's chest began to hiccup and heave. Sobs broke through his mouth, his hands clinging desperately to his mother. He didn't want to go to America anymore. He wanted to go home, to the shack, to the dirt and mud, to the piles of trash. He didn't care if America was beautiful or free or rich, he wanted land.

\------------------------------------------------

Through sheer will, Lance's mother kept them alive through the storm. Her limbs paralyzed from the cold, she kept whispering to her child to stay strong. He'd survive, as long as he held onto her. She didn't think about losing feeling in her fingers or feet.

A fishing boat in the distance caught her eye. She tried to lift her arm to wave for them, but it wouldn't obey. Her body was hardly responsive. The only thing keeping them both afloat was the one piece of the boat she'd managed to find.

"Stay with me," she told her son. He didn't respond. She wouldn't give up. Not yet.

The boat progressively made way to them, and she screamed. Her voice cracked, hoarse from the salt water. Still she screamed, nonstop, only breathing to lift her voice again. After a few minutes, the boat let out a low horn, and made way towards her.

Finally. They would survive. She didn't care who saved them, she only wanted her son to be safe.

The fishermen threw down a lifesaver. The mother tried desperately to get her fingers to hold onto the tube, but they didn't move. Their skin was blackish blue, her fingernails bent. As she tried to grab the rope, one popped off. She let out a soft sob. She felt no pain.

A man jumped overboard to assist. He snaked her arms around the tube and then himself, and trapped her son in between. Once he had them both secured he waved his arm. The trio were pulled up by a pulley. The mother could feel her body losing grip on itself, no longer needing to fight to survive.

She didn't understand the language they spoke. They tried to get her to speak, but she didn't want help. With as much strength as she had left she would point to her son, saying 'him, not me, him,' repeatedly.

The rest became a blur. They must've reached land as she saw green grass and busy roads, just as her father had described. Even though she could feel the ground stop moving, could see the ocean disappear behind car doors, and smell the fresh oxygen from the mask over her face, she still felt like she was rocking at sea, back and forth.

"My son..." was all she could say. "My...son..."

Emergency personnel tried everything within their power to first get answers, then get her stable. It seemed the more they tried, the less will she had to live. Hypothermia had taken most of her limbs, and already her body was shutting down.

Five minutes after arriving at the hospital, she was gone.

All attention was focused to her child, the only other survivor they found. He, too, was shutting down. With prayers, struggle and expertise, they were able to save his life. Two days later, he recovered from a coma.

Lance felt like America was a doomed place. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be anywhere. He wanted his family. He wanted them found. The search and rescue found nothing, even for months after search. Lance was placed into an orphanage. He never stopped having nightmares about drowning and cried at the sight of anything ocean-related. In the place he was taken to, swimming was a common pastime. But even pools made him terrified.

They didn't know how to help him. Another child without a family, with fears and scarring far beyond repair.

It was going to be a long, long road.

\------------------------------------------------

"Okay, let's start from the beginning," Shiro said aloud. He looked over the list of items he'd yet to buy for Keith. In one hand he pushed the shopping cart, Keith walking quietly beside

him. While the list wasn't long, it was tedious.

"Shirts, pants, and two pairs of shoes," Shiro listed slowly. "Do you know what your shirt size is, Keith?"

"No..." Keith answered shyly.

"That's okay. We can try the sizes on and see." He led over to the junior boys' section.

Arrays of shirts of many sizes and colors, with varying logos and prints lined one wall and sat atop tables.

"Let's figure out what your size is." Shiro grabbed the nearest pile, sorting through it until he found several different sizes. "Don't worry we're not buying these, just seeing which fits."

Keith didn't respond, but Shiro knew he was listening. He'd already picked up on Keith's habit of staying quiet and only speaking when the moment demanded it. The boy wasn't the type to get distracted, just had few words to say.

He offered the clothes to the young boy, pointing to the dressing rooms. "I'll be right outside, okay?" he said. "Make sure it isn't too tight and you can move your arms."

Keith's mouth stayed shut, but he trudged to the dressing rooms. Shiro waited outside the stall, in case Keith needed him. He didn't think the kid would; Keith may be young but he wasn't so young he couldn't dress himself. As he waited he watched a lady chatter with a store worker about sizes, agreeing that women's clothes being different sizes every store was unfair.

Wait. They were different everywhere? How were they different?

He heard the door open and turned to watch Keith walk back out, the clothes folded in his hands.

"Which one fit better?" Shiro asked. Keith held up one of them and he gently took it, reading the tag. "Mediums. Alright, now we know."

Away he led, back to the assorted shirts. "Pick out five you like best," Shiro told the younger one. "Make sure they're the right size, okay?"

He walked to put the shirts back that Keith had tried on, but Keith spoke up and stopped him in his tracks.

"Why do I have to have new clothes?" Keith asked.

Shiro looked at him in surprise. "You can't wear the same clothes every day," he answered.

"But they go to waste," Keith shrugged. "I hardly ever get to keep the shirts adults buy for me. They don't fit in my backpack."

That struck a string in Shiro's chest.

"So long as you stay with me," Shiro said kindly, "you're gonna need some clothes."

Keith didn't see it that way. He knew eventually Shiro would kick him out, and he'd lose everything he earned again. To him, this was a waste of time. The boy let out a silent sigh, then walked through the area to find shirts. After about five minutes, he'd grabbed several red ones with game logos and two black ones, one with a cartoonish skull on the front.

"Looks good to me," Shiro said after checking the sizes. "Now let's pick out some pants. If you want you can grab a pair of shorts or two."

As the two migrated across the store to the pants section, Keith couldn't keep his eyes away from Shiro's arm. He'd known it was different, but he'd never taken a good hard look at it. Since they first met, Keith's eyes had been fixated on the ground or at Shiro's feet, not anywhere above. But now, seeing Shiro's face and upper body seemed weird and new. And the metal arm kept grabbing his attention. It'd whir and hum if it moved even the slightest. The sound of its motors were barely audible and he had to be real close to hear them.

"What is that?" Keith blurted out, tapping Shiro's metal forearm.

"Hm?" Shiro looked down. "Oh." His serious tone dropped as he chuckled. "I didn't think you'd ask. I figured you already noticed!"

"No," Keith said simply. Huh, weird, Shiro thought.

"Is it real?" Keith asked.

"Yes," Shiro responded. Though his voice was calm, his face looked a bit tighter. Keith didn't notice.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Oh. ... Did you build it?"

"No."

"Who did?"

"...Someone else did."

"Who?"

"I don't know." That was a lie.

"Did it hurt?"

Shiro didn't like the questionnaire. It made him remember things he had tried hard to put out of his mind. Still, he knew Keith meant no harm by asking, so he did his best to answer without betraying how unsettled he was. "Yes. A lot."

"Can you feel it?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Keith flicked the metal and Shiro stopped, giving the boy a puzzled look.

"I wanted to see if it worked," Keith explained, not looking at Shiro's face. His eyes still gazed at the metal, not looking away. The nonstop staring made the veteran anxious.

"Ahem, w-well, it did," Shiro stuttered. _Please don't keep asking,_ he thought. _Please don't keep asking._

"Does it do anything?"

"Yes."

"C-"

"Alright, here's the pants," Shiro cut him off deliberately. He grabbed the nearest stack of jeans and set them against Keith's chest. "See if any of them fit. Come out and let me know which one works, okay?"

Quickly he led the boy to the changing rooms, and once the stall closed, he breathed a sigh of relief. He tried to be patient as much as possible, but even he had his limits when it came to such stressful topics. Poor Keith...He knew the boy didn't mean to cause him discomfort. He was only curious.

Shiro did wonder, however, why Keith never met his eyes. Even when addressing him, Keith never looked up. Was he still shy? Maybe. The man decided not to worry too much about it. Hopefully the boy would warm up enough to stop looking down as often.

\------------------------------------------------

After a couple hours of shopping, Shiro had helped Keith get several changes of clothes for a week, new pillows, some books, and a sketchbook and journal. He had to hold out on video games for now. Shiro didn't have any gaming consoles and they weren't cheap, so he told Keith he'd have to wait to get any video games. The kid didn't seem too bothered by that, fortunately.

What did irk Shiro was Keith's reluctance to get new things for himself. It wasn't common for him to meet a child so young, with such little energy and high disinterest in toys or social interaction. He wondered what kind of life the poor boy had had, to cause this kind of behavior.

Shiro told himself once Keith warmed up, that'd all go away.

It'd take a while. A long while.

But Shiro was patient. He could wait.


	5. The Country's Biggest Plague

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't go to school, kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for the following:  
> \- school shooting  
> \- suicide  
> \- alcoholism  
> \- near child abuse/neglect

"Can I go with you, daddy?"

Samuel Holt laughed as he bent down before his daughter. "Not this time," he said. "Matt and I will be working with really heavy equipment today, and we wouldn't want you getting bored."

"I won't be bored!" she protested.

He ruffled her long messy hair. "Not this time," he chuckled. Matt, Katie's older brother, walked by carrying a large black case. Katie had been shown it the night before and learned it was a fancy device that could see far, far away at stars a really long way away. She thought about it now, playing freshly in her mind.

"We're going to learn about how old our universe is," he'd told her while she looked through its scope, seeing a comet trail far in the distance that she couldn't see without it. "What we do is find a pretty star that's gone 'boom,' and see how far away it is now. Then we take how far away it was long ago, and see how big our world is from that."

"How do you do that?" she asked.

"It's a bunch of math," he'd said.

"Ew! Math is gross!"

He'd laughed as he'd sat on his knees beside her, showing her the stars high above and naming them.

This morning, her smart brother and father were heading to a big school to meet with a team and learn more about the stars. Sometimes her father would let her come along and read books about stars from his office (not really read, but look at the pretty pictures) while he did lectures with students and met with other smart people. She couldn't always go, and today was one of those days.

"We'll see you tonight, okay sweetie?" Samuel promised as he gave a small peck on the top of his daughter's head.

"Okay..." she said, disheartened. He gave another ruffle of her hair, then gave her mom a kiss. Katie looked away, making a grossed face. A minute later her brother and father were gone out the door, in their car and headed to the big school.

\-----------------------------------------------

"A terrible tragedy has struck the town with shock and grief," Katie heard the news lady say. She didn't know the big words, but looking at her mother's shocked face and the way the news lady spoke, something was wrong. She'd been heading downstairs to grab a glass of water before bed, but stopped halfway down the stairs to listen. Her mother's back was to her, sitting on the couch facing the TV.

"Earlier this afternoon, a former student at the local university started shooting faculty and students, holding a room of students hostage until he eventually committed suicide. There were thirteen casualties and eight injured, three critically injured. The names of the deceased have not been released."

What did the big words mean? Something horrible, she reasoned from how her mother began to sob and threw the remote across the room.

Should she go check on her mother?...

"Mommy? What's wrong?"

The short-haired woman turned in surprise. "Katie," she sniffled. "Come here, sweetie."

"What's wrong?" Katie asked again, walking over.

"Daddy and Matt are in trouble," she said.

"What? What did they do?"

Her mother didn't answer, but sobbed continuously. Several minutes later, a phone call rang on the house phone. Shaking, her mom walked to the phone and answered. Within seconds she collapsed onto the floor, wailing and dropping the phone.

Something was horribly, terribly wrong.

"Mommy, what's going on?" Katie pulled her arms to her chest, feeling scared.

She didn't answer, but kept crying, over and over.

\-----------------------------------------------

It'd been two weeks since her brother and father left. They hadn't come home yet. Katie wondered how long they'd been working on that project. Did they mean to stay so long? Was something wrong?

Did they forget about her and mommy?

Speaking of, her mother had become a different person. She cried almost all the time, and didn't cook anymore. Katie often saw her going to the store and buying lots of bottles and drinking them. When she'd drink them she'd stop crying, but she'd fall asleep. Several times, Katie tried to ask for food, but her mother did nothing about it except hand her bags of fruit snacks.

For the last week or so, Katie had been going next door to eat. The neighbor's family had noticed she was looking thin, so they fed her every day. They'd ask Katie about her mom, if she was okay, and Katie could only say, "she's drinking those bottles from the store a lot. She sleeps a lot and cries a lot. But she won't eat."

\-----------------------------------------------

Three weeks had passed since her father and brother disappeared. Her mother got upset every time Katie asked about them. One night, she watched her mother get outraged at the photograph of the family on the wall, throwing a bottle at it and screaming.

"Mommy!" she cried in fear.

Her mother's head snapped over, eyes dilated and bloodshot.

"How dare!" she screamed.

What...?

"Did I do something wrong...?" Katie asked.

"No..." her mother explained. She pointed to the photograph with a wobbly arm. Her voice was slurred. "They did! They left us, Katie! They left. They aren't coming back. It's their fault! They did it! They..."

She broke into tears again and fell to her knees.

"Mommy!" Katie rushed over, trying to lift her mother up by wrapping her small arms around one of her mother's.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

Katie backed away. Her mother had nearly hit her. Terrified, startled and upset, she began to tear up. Her golden eyes stared at her mother, petrified.

Her mother never did that.

Her mother was sick. She could figure it out now. Her father and brother had been gone too long, and now mother was upset.

Katie had to find her dad and brother. If she brought them home, she could make her mother happy, and she'd stop being sick. Everything would be back to normal.

That night, while her mother slept on the couch, Katie put on a sweater and her thickest jeans and shoes. She slipped out the back door, going through the fence gate and around to the front of the house.

She could walk to the university, she thought. It wasn't that far. Daddy always got there super fast in his car. Unfortunately, he'd taken his car and Katie couldn't drive her mommy's car.

So she decided walking would be the best option.

\-----------------------------------------------

How long had it been?

The sky was brightening on the edge of the ground. Katie was tired, hungry, and scared. The university was farther than she thought, and now she was lost. Tears in her eyes, she curled up on a park bench and wished her mother could come back and get her.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

Katie lifted her head. A police officer stood above her, looking concerned.

"Where's your parents?"

"Daddy hasn't come home in a long time," Katie replied. "Mommy's sick. I wanted to find my dad, but I got lost."

"Do you know where you live?" he asked.

"No," she sniffled.

The officer looked around. After a moment, he lifted his fancy radio from his hip and spoke into it.

"Come with me please," he said, offering a hand. "I can help you find your mommy."

Katie nodded and took his large, calloused hand.

\-----------------------------------------------

"Court order."

Katie sat in a brown booth away from her mother, beside someone the police had called a 'body guard.' Ever since she'd tried to find her father, the police had been afraid of letting her see her mother. After trying three more times, they'd taken her away. Today, they told her to tell the truth about how her mother had been for the past few months.

"Mrs. Holt hereby loses custody of Katie Holt. Katie Holt will be turned over to the local orphanage and put into foster care, active immediately."

"NO!"

Katie watched her mother jump up and try to climb over the wooden seats to get to her daughter. Katie, in turn, stood up. A bunch of police officers rushed over and took her mother's arms, pulling her back.

"Wait!" Katie called. A man wrapped an arm around her and she screamed. "Let me see my mom! NO! I want to see my mom!"

"KATIE!" her mother sobbed. "Katie, I'm so sorry! Katie, please, I love you!"

"MOMMY! MOMMY PLEASE!"

Katie was forced from the room through a different door than her mother. She screamed and kicked and punched the man keeping her from her mother, but it didn't do a single thing. She'd never cried so hard, even when she scraped her knee on the ground.

For hours, through the car trip to the orphanage, through the process of papers and meeting the lady who took her to her room, she cried. Her throat burned and her mouth was dry. Her face hurt from tears and rubbing at her cheeks. Her nose kept running.

She wanted to go home.

\-----------------------------------------------

"What would you like to be called?"

Katie had told the babysitters (she didn't know what else to call them) at the orphanage that she didn't like being called Katie. It made her think of her mother and she'd burst into tears every time.

"Pidge," she said. She had no idea where the name came from, but it reminded her of her favorite brand of peanut butter.

"Okay," the woman said.

"I want a haircut too."

The lady looked up, surprised. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

\-----------------------------------------------

She had her hair cut to look like her brother's. They'd sent her to a doctor, who said the reason she sat so close to the TV screen was cause of her eyesight and gave her big round glasses. Since her demand for a name change, the staff and kids called her "Pidge," and she liked it.

She still wanted to go home. And she still missed her mother.

But she was getting the feeling that her mother didn't want her, otherwise she'd come get her by now.

Slowly, Pidge began to feel abandoned.

\-----------------------------------------------

It'd been two weeks since Keith first arrived at Shiro's place. Most of the time had been spent watching movies together, taking Keith to the park and looking at local kids clubs. Keith wasn't interested in a single thing Shiro tried to do. Instead, Keith was invested in staying in his room, playing on the little 3DS one of his previous foster parents had gotten him in an attempt to win him over.

Shiro questioned his decision to do this. It wasn't as easy as he thought. He knew children had a hard time adjusting to having parents, considering most of the time they never kept them. But Keith's reluctance to interact was discouraging.

"Don't worry," Laughlin had said. "They're always like that the first few weeks. Give him time."

Shiro had reached out to other networks of foster parents on online forums, and discovered that Keith's reluctance really was rather common. "Spend time with them, get to know them," they'd say. "Some take longer than others. Do something he loves with him."

Shiro hadn't a clue what Keith liked, or disliked. The boy hardly ever talked about himself, or talked at all.

The man simply was out of ideas.

On a Wednesday noon as he washed the dishes, he heard his cell phone ring. Slipping off the wet rubber gloves and turning the faucet off, he hurried and answered the phone.

"This is Shiro."

_"Shiro!"_

Laughlin.

"Oh, hello Mrs. Laughlin. Is there something you nee-"

_"Yes, actually."_

Uh oh.

_"We have another child. His name is Lance. He arrived about a month ago, and he's extremely nervous. We were hoping you could..."_

Another child...?

"I'm not sure I can handle more than one," Shiro began to say.

_"I know, I know this is so soon, but Lance is a sweet child. I think you'd get along well."_

The man ran his metal hand through his hair and sighed. "Alright. When do you need me to be ready?"

_"Oh, you have time. He'll be ready in a few days."_

Thank goodness for that.

"Alright. I'll clear out room for him."

_"Oh thank you so much, Shiro! You're a saint!"_

He smiled a little. "Thank you."

_"No, thank you. I owe you one."_

He hung up and turned to see Keith standing in the hallway, watching him. The sight caught him off guard and he jumped a little. How did the kid never make a sound...?

"Is something wrong, Keith?" he asked.

"Is that Laughlin?" Keith asked.

"Ah, yes," Shiro said. Might as well explain. "In a couple days, another boy will be coming."

"Do I have to share a room?"

Well. "Maybe. But don't worry, I think you two will get along."

"I doubt it," Keith said as he turned and headed back to his room.

How could that kid be so sure...?

\-----------------------------------------------

Shiro could never have felt more like a fool, putting those two in the same room. But he had no choice.

Unfortunately, keeping Keith and Lance from fighting was a full-time job. One he wasn't sure he could handle.


End file.
